


inches apart (even closer at heart)

by euthasia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Late at Night, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleeping Together, Steve Rogers Feels, True Love, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euthasia/pseuds/euthasia
Summary: Love is a pretty girl with long curls that kisses you after work and scolds you when you inevitably leave your dirty shoes scattered on the floor. Love is growing old and having kids and buying flowers for St. Valentine’s Day, it’s seeing her smile and feeling happy, is kissing her at night and being sure that sleep will come fast. Love is soft and warm and so, so fucking easy.Devotion is different. Devotion is heart-breaking.





	inches apart (even closer at heart)

**Author's Note:**

> "I surrender who I've been for who you are  
> Nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart  
> If I had only felt how it feels to be yours  
> I would have known what I've been living for all along."
> 
> Sleeping At Last, Turning Pages.

Love is easy. 

He knows people don’t like to think about it that way, but it is. It’s always been. 

Finding love, that is different already. He can see why it could be problematic. Sometimes people lie, sometimes people cheat; sometimes people hurt one another without meaning it, and then proceed to tear each other to shreds just because they’re too prideful to admit that they’re sorry. At times, even the simple act of waiting for the right person to come can make you feel lonely. Unlovable. Desperate.

But overall, love is easy. 

Love is a pretty girl with long curls who kisses you after work and scolds you when you inevitably leave your dirty shoes scattered on the floor. Love is growing old and having kids and buying flowers for St. Valentine’s Day, it’s seeing her smile and feeling happy, it's kissing her at night and being sure that sleep will come fast. Love is soft and warm and so, so fucking easy.

 

Devotion is different. Devotion is heart-breaking. 

It grows inside your chest, wrapped around your ribs like ivy; it envelops your heart, so that when you feel it clench, when you feel its desperate attempts to pump blood through your tired body, you’re left wondering if that’s the only thing keeping you alive. It spreads inside your brain and reassembles its scattered pieces into holy pictures, and never, never, relents. Devotion is timeless, insatiable. 

Devotion is what keeps you in the middle of a war when you could’ve gone home, when all you’d ever wanted was to go home. It’s a chain heavy around your neck, and it’s the pleasure beyond senses that makes it bearable. Poison and medication, all in one, sweet pill. 

Devotion is what gives you the strength to open your eyes in the morning, even when everything around you is in ruins. Even when it’s 1944, you haven’t eaten in two days and your eyes are burning from not blinking in the snowy wind of the Alps. Even when gunfire is the only sound you’ve heard for hours and you’re hiding behind a fucking rock of all things, holding your rifle against your chest and praying that you’re not going to be hit next. That he’s not going to be hit next. Or ever. 

Devotion is falling. Dying, so he doesn’t have to.

Devotion is what overrides seventy years of mind-control and brainwashing, like it was nothing more than a spell from a fairy tale. It’s seeing him again and feeling– just that, feeling. Intransitive. Having flowers grow where all the empty space was. And being– real, alive, not a breathing machine, not a monster, not an asset– being… his. Still.

Devotion is what stops you from taking a blade to your own neck when you realise whose face you’ve been punching the whole time. It’s not blowing your brains off when you remember how many lives you’ve taken. It’s getting up, and getting up, and getting up again, every single time you fall that deep, because there’s something out there in the world that’s beautiful and pure and extraordinary and so precious it takes your breath away. And it’s difficult, it’s so fucking difficult at times. To believe that you deserve it, that you can have it. That it’s always been yours.

Devotion is people looking at your life and seeing just darkness and despair, just because they don’t see him, they don’t see his soul shining so brightly that it burns, enough to make the sun jealous, enough to turn a whole universe into dust– but not you. Not you. You just feel warm. 

Devotion is having him asleep beside you, and feeling so blessed that you’re afraid your soul could burst out of the fragile seams of your body. It’s wanting to rip your heart out of your chest to give it to him, it’s wanting to root out every trace of fear and pain from the world so that he would never have to be sad again. It’s wanting to put the cosmos at his feet just to make him happy. 

His Stevie. The most beautiful work of art. There, sleeping, soft and rumpled and content. One hand still resting in the space between them, reaching for him. Always reaching for him. He can’t help but touch his fingers, caress them like the treasure they are. 

«Buck? Why’re you awake?» Steve slurs, rousing a bit. He rolls on his side, eyes still closed. «Nightmare?»

«Yeah, but now I’m fine, promise. I was just thinking. You can go back to sleep.» Bucky murmurs, voice as soft as a feather. He watches as Steve hums in approval, then kisses their joined hands and falls asleep again, a couple inches closer. 

It should be scary, feeling the way he feels; sometimes it is. But with Steve right there next to him, he just feels blessed. Not alone. Because he knows the signs.

Devotion is also jumping over rising flames to get to somebody on the other side. It’s leading a one-man almost-suicidal mission to rescue somebody you’re not even sure is still alive. It’s letting yourself get beaten to death, it’s refusing to fight back, it’s trusting somebody so deeply that you’re able to believe in them even when they’re at their lowest point. 

Devotion is turning your back to everything you’ve built and to all the people you love, it’s risking every single good thing that you have, it’s giving all of yourself, every day, to somebody. Unswervingly. Devotion is not regretting it, ever. 

Bucky knows the signs. He knows Steve. 

 

Love is easy. Easy like the life he was supposed to have, back in the thirties.

The life he has now is not easy. It’s difficult, and harsh, and cruel. It’s nightmares, paranoia, fear, and so much blood on his hands that he sometimes feels like throwing up just thinking about it. But looking at Steve’s dreamy face, looking at their tangled fingers, he can’t help but think he’d do it all over again, just to end up there. 

Love back then would’ve been beautiful, but devotion is glorious. And this life… this life can’t be anything but a miracle. 

Bucky burrows into Steve’s warmth, closes his eyes, and goesback to sleep. Thankful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I've written this little thing in the whim of the moment. I was feeling inspired this morning and I decided to just mindlessly write down my thoughts for a couple hours. I didn't hate the end result, so it's here for you all to cry on. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think of this. I love reading your opinions on my work.  
> I hope you all have an amazing day! :)


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